


Oh What a Tangled Web

by Ora (Finale)



Series: Out of the Black [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amelie is not Widowmaker, Angst, F/F, F/M, Gerard no, Sorry Reinhardt, but that doesn't make her any less dangerous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finale/pseuds/Ora
Summary: On a cold day in Zurich Blackwatch Commander Gerard Lacroix lead an attempted coup against Overwatch.On that same day, Amelie Lacroix knew everything had changed.





	

 Amélie watches the TV, nails digging into her palms. The reporter's’ words are white noise and she can’t draw her eyes away from the sight of Zurich’s destruction. Zurich, which had been her home for nearly a decade. Zurich, where her friends and family made their homes. Zurich,  now just a cairn of corpses.

_Accounts are still trickling in, but what is known is the attack on Zurich was caused by Blackwatch, the mysterious special-ops division of Overwatch. Gérard Lacroix, the organization’s commanding officer -once known as the Hero of Nice following the Omnic Crisis- is being sought as the suspected ringleader_

_ Strike-Commander Jack Morrison has been declared Killed in Action. _

_ Captain Ana Amari has been declared Missing in Action. _

_Reinhardt Wilhem, retired Overwatch agent, has declined to comment on the events._

_Gabriel Reyes, original Strike Commander of Ovewatch, cannot be reached for comment._

_UN Spokeswoman Amalia Lorne to speak in ten minutes on the future of Overwatch._

Amélie finally turns off the TV, staring blankly at the screen. She can’t hear the low murmur of her bodyguards’ voices, suspects Yakov and Tanja have just received a message from someone. A senior Overwatch agent? A UN official? She imagines her phone will be ringing soon from calls from the UN. After all, the wife of a traitor must know something.

She doesn’t, but Amélie doubts the UN will believe that.

* * *

 

“Hello Mrs. Lacroix,” the woman smiles, the expression not reaching tired black eyes. “I’m UN Investigator Yumi Kagemori. You understand why I am here?”

“The UN believes I have some knowledge of Gérard’s plans,” Amélie says, expression smooth. “Either what his future plans are, or knowledge relating to what he did.”

“That, and looking at your status as a reserve Overwatch agent,” Kagemori says, tapping her tablet. “According to our records, you are a sniper, trained by Ana Amari? But when you met Gérard Lacroix, you were only a dancer?”

“If you wish to describe my role as a _premier danseur_ at the Paris Opera Ballet as ‘only a dancer’, then yes,” she drawls, giving the investigator a flat look. “Ana trained me following Gérard’s promotion to Blackwatch Commander. It was thought it would be a good idea to train me with some form of weapon, and I decided on a sniper rifle and other small arms training. Strike Commander Morrison offered me a reserve agent’s position when he saw my skill.”

She had done quite a bit more training than just that, but Amélie knows that information is in the file. Even before Gérard’s promotion she’d been given basic hand to hand combat training, and friendly (though now suspect) Blackwatch agents had given her infiltration training. Due to her connections in the arts world, she’d even done a few information gathering missions.

“Thank you,” Kagemori says, not apologizing for her implied insult. “Now, what did you know about your husband’s plans?”

Blunt. She can almost respect that. 

“Nothing,” Amélie replies, just as blunt. 

“Nothing?” Kagemori echoes, raising a brow at Amélie. “You knew _ nothing _ ?”

“Nothing,” she repeats, lips twisting up in disdain at the investigator’s blatant skepticism. “My husband is not a stupid man Ms. Kagemori. Regardless of my status as a reserve agent, I am a very skilled sniper, and would have attempted to defend Overwatch. Had I known of Gérard’s plans, I would have dealt with him myself.” 

“Really?” Kagemori drawls, disbelief even more apparent. “You not only knew nothing, but if you did, you would have tried to stop the events from happening?”

“ _ Oui _ ,” Amélie says, intentionally shifting into her native French for emphasis. “Investigator, I do not even know  _ why _ my husband did this. All I know is that I turned on my TV to discover, not only did my husband attempt an unsuccessful coup against the organization he’d dedicated much of his life to, but he killed many people we saw as friends and family. So  _ non _ , not only did I have no clue that this was going to happen, I have no knowledge of as to why Gérard would do something like this.” 

“According to the deluded rant your husband left, he was convinced Strike-Commander Morrison and Captain Amari were Talon agents, that the retirements for Agent Reinhardt Wilhelm and Commander Gabriel Reyes were due to Talon manipulations, and if he didn’t topple Overwatch, the world was doomed,” Kagemori says, voice full of false casualness. “But you know nothing about that?”

“ _ Non _ ,” Amélie says flatly. “Had I known anything like that, I would have gone to Jack and Ana. Gérard’s increased paranoia since his promotion to Blackwatch commander and the multiple failed assassination attempts from Talon are well known. I would have requested they force his resignation and for him to seek mental help.” 

Kagemori’s black eyes study her, and Amélie bites back the urge to scowl. She knew nothing! The entire matter is an absurdity. She just wants to go home, to curl up and cry over the deaths of her friends and family, not be stuck in this room with this disbelieving shrew…

“You’re free to go,” Kagemori says, startling her out of her thoughts. “I will warn you, the UN intends to shut down Overwatch completely. I advise you to find new employment, if you don’t already have it. The accounts you share with your husband will be sealed for the investigation. Any accounts belonging only to you shall be left alone, but will be monitored. His personal accounts will be closed permanently and the money within reclaimed for restitution for the victims.”

“I will keep your advice in mind,” Amélie says. She and Gérard had never combined accounts, seeing no real point. “I will also keep my cellphone on if the UN needs to question me again.  _ Au revoir _ .” 

“Thank you. Have a nice day Mrs. Lacroix.”

* * *

 

Amélie hums softly to herself as she finishes drying the wine glass. Through the open window, she can hear the murmurs of people walking outside and the chirp of bird song. Its mid afternoon, and she knows she needs to go shopping soon. She told Ana and Reinhardt that she’d be bringing them cookies the next time she saw them. 

Her phone rings, startling her slightly. Very few people called her anymore. Her parents. A few other ballerinas she’d worked with at the Paris Opera Ballet. Ana since her rescue six weeks earlier. Reinhardt. Torbjörn. Jesse and Gabriel every once in a blue moon. But most of those calls came either in the morning or the evening. 

“ _ Bonjour,”  _ she says, picking up the phone. “ _ Qui-est ce?”  _

“It’s Torbjörn. Amélie...Reinhardt is dead,” the Swedish man says, voice shaking. “Last night, Ana stabbed him through his blind eye. She’s since vanished. Keep an eye out. I think when Talon had her, they did something to her.” 

“ _ Oui _ ,” she says, shock keeping her in her native French. “ _ Merci.”  _

Dead. Reinhardt is dead. Reinhardt, who’d always been so kind to her. Reinhardt who’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, supported her after Gérard’s betrayal was discovered. Reinhardt, who’d trusted her so much, defended her from accusations that she’d known Gérard’s plan. 

And now he’s dead. 

Without a doubt Torbjörn is correct. Talon had had to have done something to Ana during the almost six months they’d had her. Brainwashing without a doubt, likely a combination of drugs and torture. Likely neural reconditioning. Because she knows,  _ knew, _ Ana. The Egyptian sniper had adored Reinhardt, and had told her in an excited whisper less than three days ago that she planned on accepting Reinhardt’s marriage proposal. 

“Amélie? Are you still there?” Torbjörn asks, worry filling his voice. 

“ _ Oui _ , yes I am,” Amélie says, switching to English. Torbjörn doesn’t speak French. “When is...when will the funeral be?”

“Next week. He is going to be buried in Eichenwalde with the rest of the Crusaders. The German government is doing a state funeral, and he’ll be lying in state before the memorial in Stuttgart for the week.” 

“I will be there,” Amélie promises, closing her eyes. “I will be there.”

* * *

 

The second she hears rumors of Shrike she knows exactly who is under the mask. No sniper but Ana Amari would have such skill. Amélie thinks she comes close, but doesn’t delude herself with the thought she equals Ana. Decades of experience trump a single decade every time.  

_ But still _ , she thinks, lining up her shot towards the black, blank mask.  _ I will do what I need to. _

Ana wouldn’t want to be a Talon tool. She wouldn’t want Reinhardt’s blood on her hands. She wouldn’t want to be Shrike. Maybe there is enough of her friend still in Shrike to let this happen. Let Amélie send her to peace. But by the way Shrike’s own rifle shifts to face her, she’s not so sure that will happen. 

_ Please, please _ , she prays, pulling the trigger. 

Amélie screams as Shrike’s bullet pierces her eye, straight through the scope of her rifle. She collapses, curling into herself in a too late defense, hands pressing desperately against her bleeding eye. Barely it occurs to her to hit the emergency extraction button Torbjörn had given her. The former Overwatch armorer had agreed to back her up, along Gabriel and Jesse. 

_ Oh god, oh god,  _ she thinks, on the verge of passing out. _ It hurts.  _ **_It hurts._ **

* * *

 

The bionic  eye looks almost identical to her old eye. Aron Malka did very good work, and he owed Gabriel a very large favor for some reason. Something concerning Ana and a chicken, but she hasn’t gotten the complete story out of either of them. 

“How is it?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. He’d taken some sort of damage to his vocal cords years earlier, she’d heard, but felt it would be rude to ask just what. 

“Perfect,” Amélie assures him. “Better than new.” 

“Wonderful,” Malka nods. He’s not a man given to smiling, even in satisfaction of his own work. “Now, remember, you need to be careful when swimming. bionic  eyes, no matter how perfectly fitted have been known to get a bit loose from water immersion. Showering will be fine, but swimming with your eyes open underwater is ill advised. Wear goggles instead.” 

“I will,” she nods. “Anything else?”

“Avoid getting shot  in the eye again,” he says dryly. “And I have a little gift for you to prevent that.” 

Amélie frowns slightly, watching the elderly prosthetic expert get up. He picks up a box off a nearby table, a box she’d noticed earlier but dismissed as irrelevant to her purposes here. Apparently she had been incorrect to do so…

“A suggestion from Gabriel,” he says, handing it to her. “While your bionic  eye gives you advantages for sniping, there is only so much that can be put in such a small location. On top of that, you will be fighting against a sniper who not only also has a bionic  eye, but has a mask capable of giving her additional assistance.” 

Her frown deepens and she studies him closely. She and Gabriel had agreed to tell Malka that she is a sniper. They had  _ not  _ made clear exactly how she lost the eye, or that she intended to hunt Shrike.

“I may be old, Arachne, but I am not an idiot,” says Malka, gesturing for her to open the box. “I know you are Amélie Lacroix, ex-wife Gérard Lacroix. I know Shrike, once known as Ana Amari, shot your eye out when you failed to eliminate her. I know neither you or Reyes wish me to know this, but I refuse to make equipment for unknown causes. You are both fortunate that Jesse knew to speak, or else favor or not I would have refused.” 

“Does Gabriel know you know?”

“Yes. I told him after Jesse had given me the full story. That is when he suggested I make you what is in the box. Now, please open it.” 

Amélie follows the polite order, and pulls out an odd visor set up. It almost reminds her of a spider’s eyes, multiple lenses covering the face piece. It’s black and gray for the most part, with the lenses as the only splash of color in dark red. It will match well with the rest of the equipment Torbjörn and Winston had given her. 

“I’m assuming this will enhance my eyesight and thus targeting abilities?” she asks, catching Malka’s eyes. “Who made this? I can tell just at a glance this design wasn’t an Overwatch creation.” 

“It was not. It’s a personal design of mine. Gabriel mentioned you had a fondness for spiders, so I stylized the face plate off of that. Visual enhancement is one aspect of the visor, as is a number of targeting settings. It will allow you to register body heat, so you know if a target is hidden behind something or someone else. It will also allow you to know the exact wind speed and atmospheric pressure wherever you are shooting.”

“ _ Merci,”  _ she says, thoughtful. “But why? It has to be more than just because Gabriel requested it. I can tell how difficult this must have been to make.”

“Three years ago, Talon attempted to target my family because they wanted my,  _ ahem _ , employment. I did not wish to work for a terrorist organization and only avoided it due to Ana Amari’s interference.” Malka’s gaze is firm as he continues to hold her gaze. “I know she would never willingly serve Talon. I know what you intend to do, and I will make sure you have the equipment to do so.” 

“ _ Merci _ ,” she repeats, not sure what else to say. 

“Just do what needs to be done Arachne, and I will consider my work well used.”

* * *

 

“You know, I should have expected to find you here,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist a bit tighter, trying to keep herself warmer. “You always did like seeing what you destroyed, didn’t you Gérard?”

Amélie turns and faces her ex-husband. The once Blackwatch commander looks awful, skin callow and features hollowed out. Gérard looks as if he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in the past three years since Overwatch’s destruction. Good. He doesn’t deserve rest. She hopes the ghosts of their friends haunt his sleep. 

“Hello Amélie,” he says softly, unable to meet her stare. Instead he looks at her feet, still wearing the sturdy boots of her Arachne outfit. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” 

“I had no intention of coming to Zurich, but decided after three years I should pay my respects to the dead that are still entombed here,” she says. Due to structural instability, many corpses had never been retrieved from the lower levels of Watchpoint: Zurich. Jack Morrison’s body had been the deepest rescued, and she suspects it more happened because of the secrets SEP hid in his genetics. “But I doubt you are here to do the same. Maybe gloat about what you destroyed so foolishly?”

“I wasn’t being foolish!” he snarls, taking an aggressive step towards her before stopping, but now his gaze meets her, tired brown eyes now inflamed with anger. “I had been being fed false information for more than a year! Talon decided it would be fastest to take me down by playing off my paranoia. They had made multiple attempts to kill me, to kidnap you. They only stopped because they decided on something better.” 

“Tricking you into destroying Overwatch?” she asks, skeptical. “It took so little time to make you betray your friends? Just a little bit of misinformation was enough to kill Jack, Reinhardt over? To as good as murder Ana?”

“It was more than a little bit of misinformation Amélie. Doctored information reports. Venomous rumors whispered into my ear. They had been watching us both for years, as you may recall, looking for where our cracks are. And they found mine. They played on my worries over Gabriel’s sudden resignation, and Jesse’s equally abrupt leaving. They manipulated my concerns over Reinhardt’s ‘retirement’.” 

“And you fell for it,” she says, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “What did they tell you? That Overwatch was infected by Talon. No,” she says slowly, studying him closely. “It was more than that, it would take more than that to have shaken you.” Her eyes widen in realization. 

“They convinced you that Ana and Jack were Talon agents, didn’t they?” 

“Yes,” he says harshly, no longer able to meet her eyes. “I thought...I thought Ana and Jack having been turned would explain what was going on. I didn’t think the rot of Talon went any higher than them. I…” 

“You are a fool,” she says, even more disgusted now. “Gabriel resigned from Blackwatch because he grew tired of all the death, all the awful things he had to do. Reinhardt was forced into retirement because the UN supposedly didn’t want the scandal of him dying mid-mission from a heart attack due to the stress. Jack and Ana wanted neither of those things.” 

“I get that now!” he snaps, glaring at the snow disturbed from her steps. “I get that I was being a paranoid fool, jumping at a shadow that was never there! I get that I killed my friends because I was too distrustful to go to them and find out the truth.” 

“And now what? You come to Zurich for what? Absolution?” Amélie sneers. “You and I both know where you went after Overwatch collapsed, to the only place you could go; Talon. I wonder, is it that finally after three years it’s become to much? The guilt overwhelming you?”

She takes a step towards him, barely holding back the urge to grab her gun and shoot him. 

“Thanks to you, a good woman was destroyed and turned into a monster. Due to you, Jack and Reinhardt are nothing but corpses in the ground. Talon is growing in power, and due to the goddamn PETRAS Act there’s nothing we can do! All of that could have been avoided if you hadn’t allowed Talon to manipulate you! I wouldn’t have had to look Fareeha in the eye at Reinhardt’s funeral and known all she was thinking about was her mother killing the man Fareeha has admired since childhood. I wouldn’t have had to watch friends mourn their loved ones, all dead in one blow, or mourn their lives and careers now being over.” 

“I didn’t come here for absolution,” he growls, clenching his hands into tight fists. “I know I’m never going to find it, not with the ghosts that hound my steps. I don’t know why I came here. To see what I destroyed? To try and remind myself of what I did wrong? I don’t know Ame!” 

“Don’t call me that!” she snarls, even more furious. “You have no right to call me that. Tell me Gérard, how many have died at your hands since Zurich? I know the UN Investigator who’d been dealing with the Blackwatch coup died under mysterious circumstances. Her blood is on your hands, even if you hadn’t been the one to poison her. How many others? I know there is some mysterious mercenary calling themselves Ripper who is slaughtering his way through former Overwatch agents. How often do you help him?”

“Don’t compare me to that monster,” Gérard shudders, suddenly looking sick. “I don’t know anything about Ripper, beyond that he’s some sort of inhuman freak. I don’t know what his issue with Overwatch is, or who he could have once been. All I know is he hates Overwatch and he hates me.” 

“If he hates you so much, why are you alive?”

“Because according to him, it’s more satisfying to watch me live and deal with what I did,. That death would be an escape for me. I know he’s prevented me from dying in a few fights, finding it more satisfying for me to come close to death, only to just escape.” 

“If you want to die so badly, why not just kill yourself?” she asks dryly. “Then again, you’ve never been terribly brave. Or maybe you’ve convinced yourself, that your continued survival is a second chance. That maybe you can redeem yourself.” 

Amélie walks past him, deciding her time is done, that she’s done dealing with him. She has a plane to catch to Oasis, and a meeting with Gabriel, Jesse and Genji. But she can’t help but say one more thing. 

“There is no redemption for you Gérard. None at all.”

* * *

 

_ Do they even comprehend how foolish this is?  _ Amélie wonders, using her visor to watch Mondatta.  _ Bodyguards, but standing in open air to give his speech? Omnics, especially his model, aren’t invulnerable, and a bullet through his head will kill him as easily as it would a human. _

Gabriel had contacted her a week earlier, asking her to keep an eye on the rally in Kings Row. Tekhartha Mondatta would be a tempting Talon target, and she knows she’s seen Ripper’s strange mist a few times since landing in London, and could swear she spied Shrike’s reflection twice. Hopefully, here she can prevent anything from happening. 

Amélie frowns as she notices a sudden ripple in the crowd, and unease fills her further at the sight of Tracer darting into the roofs around rally. Oh hell. The younger woman must have spotted something. 

Quickly she adjusts herself so as to follow Tracer’s darting blue light, increasing the magnification of her visor lenses. 

“Merde!” she swears, spotting Shrike’s mask as Tracer engages the other sniper. 

She lifts up her rifle, trying to find her shot, but with Tracer’s constant movement it’s hard. Amélie doesn’t want to risk hurting her after all. She sees the moment Shrike goes to take the shot, and knows Tracer will dodge. Knows Tracer will dodge and Mondatta will die, but Shrike isn’t the only one who has a shot.

Amélie pulls the trigger and prays.


End file.
